


an ode

by manzana



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-25 17:10:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6203803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manzana/pseuds/manzana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>kenma unironically loves kuroo's laugh -- gross and loud and embarrassing and all</p>
            </blockquote>





	an ode

**Author's Note:**

> when i say 'kenma loves kuroo's laugh' i really mean _i_ love kuroo's laugh. i love it so much i had to write this tiny thing. IT IS SO CUTE. if you need a refresher, feast your ears upon its glory: [[x](http://princessbubblgum.tumblr.com/post/138659476334)]
> 
> cross-posted from [my tumblr](http://princessbubblgum.tumblr.com/post/140741692759) !!

Kuroo is a good-looking boy. He’s a kind and selfless friend, a responsible, attentive captain, as well as a cunning steadfast leader. He’s focused and driven and passionate, and there’s a million zillion other qualities about him that are equally admirable, all of which Kenma would admit he finds endearing, although never to Kuroo’s face. 

 

However, if asked, above everything else, Kenma would honestly say that his favorite thing about Kuroo is his laugh.

 

His ugly, loud, donkey bray of a laugh. 

 

To say he loves it — genuinely loves it, with no ounce of irony or sarcasm — would be an understatement. 

 

He can’t remember the first time he heard it, if it’d always been like that or had slowly morphed over time. They’d known each other so long that Kenma couldn’t recall a time it wasn’t apart of Kuroo, just like his awful bed hair. It was different than his hair, though. Despite how annoyed Kuroo could be with how ridiculous his hair looked, it worked for him somehow, in its own way, lending itself to his natural good-looks, creating an almost intimidating air about him, as if he did it on purpose rather than painstakingly tried and failed to rid himself of every morning. He had a way of accidentally making everything about himself seem cool without meaning to. He carried himself tall and confident, moved with an intensity and practiced grace on the court, had a knack for passing himself off as somebody worth idealizing when spouting off whatever sagely advice or impassioned speech to his juniors, no matter how cheesy it likely actually was. It was all effortless on his part, and it somehow worked like a charm. 

 

Kenma knew better. With many years of friendship under his belt, Kenma was more familiar with a Kuroo that could lose his train of thought in the middle of a sentence, a Kuroo that was easily confused by numbers, a Kuroo that thought puns and bad dad jokes were the height of comedy, a Kuroo that had the debate skills of a five-year-old. He knew a Kuroo that liked to shove chopsticks in his mouth and pretend a walrus, a Kuroo that sang off-key in the shower, that wore socks with sandals and got misty-eyed over photos of cats wearing tiny hats. A Kuroo that shot finger-guns with accompanying winks, that would moonwalk out of a room for no reason, that abused the emoji keyboard on his phone whenever possible. 

 

Kuroo was not cool. He was a humongous dork, literally the closest definition one could find of such a thing. 

 

Of all these aspects about him that pointed to this obvious truth, the laugh was probably the loudest, most explosive evidence Kenma had. In its accompaniment with Kuroo’s unintentionally cool demeanor, it embodied everything about Kuroo that made him who he was. Out of that handsome face, through lips that often shaped a wry knowing smirk, behind pristine teeth and a quick tongue, could shoot forth a guffaw so ridiculous and wild in juxtaposition of its owner’s visage that it was almost unbelievable to anyone hearing it for the first time. It was loud and hideous and genuine. It was pure Kuroo. 

 

It was contagious, too. Their teammates were sent into their fits of laughter just hearing him, not out of jest or mockery, but because it was simply hard not to. Kenma usually does his best to pretend to look put-off by it in public, makes a show of rolling his eyes and muttering, “you’re gross,” out the side of his mouth, as if Kuroo is doing it on purpose. Kuroo, unashamed, will simply sling an arm around his neck to guide his laughter closer to Kenma’s ears. 

 

When no one is looking, though, Kenma will smile a tiny smile, will hide his lips behind a hand and muffle out a small noise that could perhaps be laughter itself. 

 

Kuroo’s laugh is ridiculously unattractive on its own, but to Kenma, it is probably the most adorable sound he has ever heard. 

 

They’re watching a movie on TV one evening, something Kuroo had randomly landed on after a long while of flurried channel surfing. It’s about an hour in when he settles on it, but they’d seen this film once before and this was really just a casual hang-out anyway. Kenma wasn’t even paying much attention to anything beyond his phone’s screen, so whether they were an hour in or not hardly mattered to him. He’s slumped against Kuroo’s side where the other boy is lounging with a leg dangling off the couch’s arm and the rest of him lazily sprawled over most of the couch. It’s quiet and comfortable between them, as their time together often is.

 

And then something happens on the TV. Kenma doesn’t know what it is, can’t pinpoint what the culprit is when he reflects on it later. Likely it wasn’t even that funny. He wouldn’t know. All he registers is that Kuroo is suddenly snickering restlessly behind a fist before whatever joke is on the screen escalates further. Then the noise explodes out of him, rendering him half bent forward, shoulders shaking, gripping his side with one hand while the laughter spills out like a flood. 

 

Kenma jumps at the sound, fumbles with his phone and almost drops it. He’s only startled for a millisecond before he relaxes, recognizing the sudden commotion as something familiar, then rests his side back against Kuroo. His body lumbers along where it’s touching Kuroo, who is still convulsed in fits of wild howling. Kenma keeps his expression even, riding out the commotion beside him as he listens and takes it all in. What Kuroo is doing is cute beyond reason, and Kenma does his best to keep the internal suffering off his face. 

 

“Oh, man,” Kuroo manages as the worst of it subsides, his words coming out in a sob as he wipes at his eye. Kenma realizes he’d been reduced to tears with his laughter and that just manages to drive the nail in harder. 

 

“Are you done,” Kenma asks. 

 

“It was funny!” Kuroo insists, as if he needs to defend his right to laugh. 

 

“So I heard.” 

 

“No no no, you don’t get it — “ He begins gesturing at the TV, and Kenma can already predict how he plans on finishing the rest of the sentence.

 

“You don’t have to explain it. It’s probably not as funny when you explain it.” 

 

“No, but, Kenma, h-he — “ 

 

And then the mere memory of a thing that happened ten seconds ago seems to be enough to tickle him once more as a loud snort bursts out of him again. This time he turns to bury his face in Kenma’s shoulder, the raucous sound of his laughter vibrating against his shirt. 

 

Where Kuroo can’t see his face, Kenma gazes down at him, his expression softening, eyes melting to a fondness he rarely displayed. Kuroo’s sounds are dying down to a hiccupy sort of giggle, still ridiculous but nowhere near as terrible as the chortling he was normally capable of. Kenma raises a hand at this point, threads his fingers gently through the short hair at the nape of Kuroo’s neck. He feels Kuroo jolt at the sensation, then raise his head just slightly to peak up at Kenma over the crest of his shoulder. Kenma can see where his curious wondering eyes are glossy with fresh tears, can see the tint of red on his cheeks from the strain of his mouth muscles. With the hand on his neck, Kenma coaxes Kuroo the rest of the way him, presses his lips lightly to the space of forehead not covered with hair. 

 

“Why?” Kuroo asks as he is kissed. 

 

Kenma chooses not to respond, instead kisses the spot again.

 

“Why, Kenma?” He sounds like a child, so genuinely confused at the random affection. 

 

“You have the worst laugh,” Kenma says, pulling away as he settles back against the couch and returns to his phone. 

 

“Oh.” A pause. Kenma can tell he’s grinning now without even looking at him. “You like it though? It’s sexy, yeah?”

 

“The most unsexy thing ever from a completely unsexy person.”

 

“Kenma nooo,” Kuroo whines, head-butting his shoulder gently. He still sounds like he’s grinning. “You don’t mean that.” 

 

“Wanna bet.”

 

“I’ll get self-conscious, y’know,” Kuroo warns, his head still ducked where his forehead is pressed against Kenma’s side. “I’ll never laugh again.” 

 

“I give it, like, five minutes. The movie is still on.” 

 

Kenma is right. Kuroo, still in the same position against Kenma but with his head now slightly pivoted to grant him view of the TV, goes not more than the promised five minutes before something else not all that funny results in a disproportionate amount of laughter from him. He tries to hide it this time, though, stifles it behind a hand he immediately clasps to his face. 

 

“Don’t,” Kenma snaps immediately, rounding on him the minute he hears the sound muffled. “Kuro.” He grabs at his hand, and it just makes Kuroo laugh harder. 

 

“Kenma!” Kuroo shrieks, and Kenma can’t even tell if he’s still laughing at the movie, at the situation, or if it’s because Kenma’s now clambering over him to remove the hand and is accidentally hitting all his tickle spots along the way. “Kenmaaa I’m too embarrassed of my gross laugh, don’t look at me!” 

 

“Shut up,” Kenma grumbles. Despite how far Kuroo had wiggled away from him up the couch, Kenma eventually succeeds in wrenching the hand from his face, pinning it at his side as Kuroo continues to snicker ridiculously, now uninhibited. 

 

“Don’t hide it. Please.” Kenma’s voice is suddenly serious as he mumbles the words between tight lips. He averts his eyes, despite laying right on top of Kuroo, his face inches away from him. 

 

“You like it that much, huh,” Kuroo says as he wears a goofy all-too-fond little smile that Kenma can feel aimed right at him.

 

“Unfortunately,” Kenma responds. 

 

Kuroo winks once, fires off a finger gun. “Alright, you got it then.” 

 

“Ugh, okay, don’t do _that_ anymore.” 

 

“You signed up for the whole package, Kenma, you don’t get the laugh without the rest of this embarrassment.” 

 

Kenma shoves a pillow in his face, to which a now muffled Kuroo manages to mumble, “this seems a little counterintuitive to your prior request.” 

 

Kuroo laughs a total of a seven more times for the remainder of the movie. Kenma smiles sleepily through each one, and Kuroo really only stops at seven because Kenma interrupts him with a kiss that neither is eager to end.


End file.
